


Mountain at My Gates

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Kinktober2019 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Kinktober, Post-Canon, Post-Endgame, ass worship, long live king Valkyrie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 09:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Darcy Lewis, UN liaison, meets the new King of Asgard.





	Mountain at My Gates

**Author's Note:**

> for a Tumblr anon who requested ass worship with Darcy/Valkyrie.
> 
> I sincerely hope this meets with your approval!
> 
> Now beta read by the amazing Ro!!!!

The thing about being exposed to freaky shit on a near  _ constant _ basis was that it unfortunately never got old, never got mundane.

Darcy Lewis had seen a lot. Had  _ done _ a lot. Had gone to school for political science, and one internship - three measly little credit hours - had led her down a path of science and ‘science’ and  _ aliens _ and gods and- The point was, Darcy had been around the proverbial block a few times. In the ‘seen some freaky shit’ proverbial way. And in the ‘done some freaky sex’ kind of way too, but that wasn’t the point.

The  _ point _ was that she should be immune to it all, right? After a certain point, after a certain list of things had transpired, Darcy should no longer be capable of being shocked or surprised or  _ anything _ other than in need of more caffeine.

That just seemed fair. Just. Balanced. Whatever.

But, well, that just wasn’t how it went. Or, at least, not for Darcy.

And really, surviving the  _ end of the world _ \- or, actually, not surviving it but then being brought  _ back to life _ five years later - should have prepared Darcy better for surprises in her life. Finding out that the guy she sort of maybe might have been planning to marry hadn’t been dusted or snapped away or whatever the fuck had happened to her and half the universe, but instead had remained and moved on and married a ridiculously cool and beautiful girl named Alice… 

That should have prepared Darcy for this. It should have.

But it hadn’t.

“You’re fucking crazy.” That was her first reaction - and the first thing she said - when the UN offered her an official job as ‘Liaison to New Asgard’.

The UN Vice Executive Director of Something didn’t look amused or sympathetic.

He sighed, conveying a hell of a lot of angst in the gusty exhalation.

“No, Ms. Lewis, I am not crazy.”

“It’s Dr. Lewis,” she corrected, because she had  _ earned _ her degrees - even in the midst of the freaky shit and babysitting scientists with zero self-preservation and, you know, the world ending and unending.

“Yes, of course,” he sighed again, and Darcy felt all sympathy she might have had for him evaporate. “Dr. Lewis. It appears that you are uniquely qualified for this position. In the past, we… lacked the manpower to fill this position, but it is essential moving forward.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you want the position or not, Ms. -  _ Dr _ . Lewis? I have other candidates on my list.”

Darcy didn’t know if that was supposed to be a threat. If it was, it sucked. 

But also… what  _ other  _ candidates, if she was uniquely qualified?

She didn’t feel like getting into a semantics fight with the guy. Then again, she frankly didn’t feel like getting into  _ anything _ with the guy.

Still. 

She really  _ was _ uniquely qualified for this position. 

And it would be nice to see Thor again.

“Sure, I’ll do it, but I want fifteen percent more than whatever salary you’re about to offer me.”

-o-

Darcy tugged at the crotch of her pantsuit.

Again.

_ This _ is why she should never, ever take fashion advice from a science nerd who couldn’t even remember to feed herself.

Because  _ neither _ of them knew how to dress ‘diplomatically’.

Well, maybe Jane did - maybe this  _ was _ diplomatic. Or professional. Or something. But Darcy never, ever wanted to be in this outfit again. She literally could not wait to take it off and burn it.

Because it had taken forever to find a jacket that fit over her tits, and of course the corresponding pants had been way too big. So she had had to hunt for a pair of pants that fit her waist and thighs, only, well, they mostly fit her waist and were a bit tight on her thighs and ass, and kept riding up, and Darcy didn’t understand why jeans and leggings weren’t considered appropriate for all occasions.

At least her blouse was worth keeping. It was a lavender-mauve striped silky thing that coordinated with the awful gray pantsuit and didn’t strangle her neck  _ or _ gap open in the middle.

To top off the unfortunate fit of the unfortunate pantsuit, it wasn’t warm. At all.

And New Asgard?

Cold.

Very, very cold.

And sure, Darcy had looked at the weather forecast, had packed sweaters and fleece pjs and thick socks… and one pair of jeans and her beloved, battered boots. But she couldn’t meet the King of Asgard, or New Asgard, wearing any of that.

Even if it was just Thor.

When Darcy arrived by boat - vomit-free even, thanks to Dramamine and a Bloody Mary at the port before she boarded the tiny, rickety boat - in New Asgard, she was driven to a large hillside that boasted a mostly cobblestone road and a very steep incline. And a lot of squat stone and wooden structures that looked like some weird blend of ancient fishing village and contemporary craftsman style things.

“You’ll be staying in the green house,” the driver pointed to an unbearably quaint and cute little cottage halfway up the hill, “whenever you’re here, Dr. Lewis.”

“Oh, I… get my own house?”

He gave her a look.

“Of course. You’re the UN Liaison. That’s a position of great importance, and the king wants to show that position the respect it deserves.”

There wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his voice, which was impressive considering that, well, the position was mostly bullshit from what Darcy had uncovered.

Bullshit with a hint of ‘cover your ass’ from the UN’s perspective. The Asgardians had been granted asylum by Norway, and gifted New Asgard for their resettlement. But, as extraterrestrials, they still fell under the UN’s Sokovia Accords, and as such… needed a liaison. 

As far as Darcy could tell, her job was mostly to give monthly reports to the UN to assure them that the Asgardians weren’t planning on taking over Earth. 

“Thanks,” she told her driver.

He nodded at her, and then gestured to another house, closer to the top of the hill. It was just as short and sturdy as the rest, but the wooden siding had been painted silver and gold so bright that Darcy found herself wincing in the sunlight.

“That’s the king’s house, if you need anything. And the Great Hall is up there at the top of the hill. That’s where we’ll have the feast tonight. To welcome you properly.”

“Oh. I… Okay. Cool,” Darcy added, diplomatically. Because she was a diplomat. And a professional.

A professional diplomat.

“Need help with your bags?”

Darcy looked at her driver, an Asgardian who could no doubt bench press her without any effort, and her roller bag. And then she looked at the very rough, very uneven, very steep hill.

“Nope,” she assured him with a smile. “I’ve got it.”

She did not have it.

Not by any stretch of the imagination, and the look on his face made it clear that he knew it just as well as she did.

But he let her drag her bag and her backpack down and start up the hill.

He kept watching her as she hiked further and further away, closer and closer to that little blue house.

And then she tripped.

And fell.

And fucking  _ ow _ .

And fucking  _ cold _ .

And fucking  _ wet _ .

Mud. She had tripped and fallen knee-first into the cold mud between the cobblestones.

And now she was on her hands and knees in the mud, in New Asgard. 

Just like a professional diplomat.

“Need a hand?”

Darcy looked up, and up, and up, until she was looking into the dark, amused gaze of a gorgeous woman. Her dark hair was wild and full around her head, tight curls dancing in the wind except for where they were held away from her forehead by a braided crown of her hair woven through with gold and silver ribbon.

Her features were sharp - rich, tawny skin made even warmer in the afternoon sunlight. She was dressed sensibly, in tall rubber boots, well-worn jeans that hugged her long, lean legs, and a thick sweater that looked so very, very warm and enticing to Darcy. 

The woman arched an eyebrow down at Darcy, and Darcy realized that she was just kneeling there in the mud, staring.

“I, uh, what?”

“I asked if you needed a hand.”

Darcy could listen to this woman reading the phone book and not get bored.

Darcy could  _ stare _ at this woman reading the phone book and not get bored.

“No, I, I’m okay.”

She forced herself to get up, and winced both at the sharp pain in her kneecaps and at the sight of the ripped, muddy fabric.

So much for making a good impression during her first official meeting with Thor.

“Shame about those pants,” the woman said.

Darcy looked back up at her, flushing because yeah, this was embarrassing, but yeah, she was wearing a pantsuit, and trust a beautiful woman to catch her in it and make fun of her and-

“I was trying to look professional. I know it’s not cute or anything.”

The woman looked shocked by Darcy’s response.

“On the contrary, they look fantastic on your arse.”

And that- 

Darcy swallowed, or tried to, but her mouth was suddenly dry and she had to try a few times before she was successful.

“I… Thanks,” she finally managed.

The woman offered Darcy a crooked smile.

“Always a pleasure to point out the obvious, especially when it involves a beautiful woman.”

And wow. 

Wow.

“I should go,” Darcy muttered. “I need to… change. Before I meet with the king.”

The woman’s crooked smile grew, large and even, and revealing perfect white teeth in a tantalizing flash that did something totally not professional to Darcy’s breathing.

“Of course. I’ll see you later.”

The woman stepped aside, and Darcy picked up her bags again and continued to drag them up the hill the rest of the way to her little blue cottage.

When she finally made it up there, she turned to see that the woman was learning against the truck that had dropped Darcy off, both the woman and the driver looking at Darcy.

The woman waved, and Darcy turned away.

Super.

She’d made an idiot of herself in front of the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, had ruined her only nice clothes, and fuck. She’d broken a nail too.

The day, she was sure, could not get worse.

-o-

Thor was not the King of Asgard. Or New Asgard.

Or any Asgard.

Newsflash. One that probably should have been included in the  _ briefing packet _ Darcy had damn near memorized in her preparation for this job.

Thor wasn’t even on Earth. Which, classic Thor, really.

Apparently, he was off with some crew of space pirates who called themselves the Revengers and- and the point was, he wasn’t the king.

So here Darcy was, in her jeans and her boots and her favorite green cable knit sweater, staring at the throne in the Great Hall.

A throne upon which sat the beautiful woman.

Once again, all Darcy could do was stare at her.

“Your Majesty?” 

It came out sounding like a question. To be fair, it was one of Darcy’s  _ many _ questions.

“That’s me,” the woman agreed, looking utterly delighted.

“I’m, uh, I’m Darcy Lewis. Your UN liaison.”

“Yes, I know. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Hall was packed with Asgardians, all there to see Darcy - or, at the very least, take advantage of a chance to celebrate and feast together.

And yet, Darcy felt like the only people in the room were her and the king. Darcy was completely unable to look away from her, and completely unwilling.

“Call me Valkyrie,” the woman, the  _ king _ , said. “And I will call you Darcy.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Sit here, beside me,” Valkyrie gestured to the empty chair to her left, and Darcy stumbled, almost tripping  _ again _ , as she moved to do so.

Valkyrie smiled over at her, and Darcy tried to smile back.

“So, you know Thor.”

“I, yeah. Kind of. “

“And Loki.”

Darcy nodded, and tried to keep her expression neutral. Thor had been all over the place in terms of his feelings for his bag of cats crazy brother, and Darcy didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot - again - with Valkyrie.

“Hm. Yes, well. Everything is different now.”

Valkyrie finally looked away from Darcy, her gaze sweeping over her people, and Darcy hated the way her teasing smile melted away. 

The Asgardians had lost so much, and Darcy felt incredible sympathy for them. For  _ her _ .

Before she really thought about it, Darcy reached out and placed her hand over Valkyrie’s.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Valkyrie looked down at their hands, and then back at Darcy’s face.

“Thank you,” she said. 

Darcy tried to smile at her, and Valkyrie twisted her wrist until their hands were palm to palm. She laced her fingers with Darcy’s and squeezed gently before releasing Darcy’s hand and signalling a start to the feasting.

“This,” she said as she poured Darcy a cup of amber liquid, “is quite strong.”

Valkyrie poured herself a cup and then held it up.

Darcy cautiously picked up her own, and Valkyrie smirked before tapping their cups together.

“Welcome to New Asgard,” she said, and then tilted the cup to her lips and drank the entire thing.

Darcy considered her own cup, considered the warning.

Fuck it.

She drank every last drop.

-o-

Valkyrie carried her home.

Valkyrie draped Darcy over her back, looped Darcy’s arms around her neck and hitched her thighs up around her waist, and carried her home.

While Darcy sang to her.

Apparently, the King of Asgard had never  _ heard The Beatles _ .

So Darcy regaled her with  _ Yellow Submarine _ and  _ Eleanor Rigby, _ and was making her way through  _ Eight Days a Week _ while Valkyrie was opening Darcy’s door and taking them into the warmth of the cozy blue cabin.

Darcy had left a light on, and everything felt golden and soft and perfect.

She laid her head against Valkyrie’s back and smiled as the king’s hair tickled her face.

Valkyrie smelled so wonderful.

“Thank you,” Valkyrie laughed.

And Darcy was saying her thoughts out loud.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

Valkyrie eased Darcy back down onto her own feet and turned to look down at her.

She was smiling again, and Darcy loved her smile so very much.

“I like yours as well,” Valkyrie said, and lifted one elegant finger to trace over Darcy’s lips.

Darcy held her breath at the touch, torn between wanting to kiss Valkyrie’s finger and kiss  _ her _ and- 

“Please can I kiss you?” Darcy asked in a rush.

“You may,” Valkyrie’s voice was full of laughter, but Darcy didn’t care.

She had to stand up on her toes, stretching up, even though Valkyrie did tilt her head down to meet Darcy halfway.

Her mouth was just like the rest of her: soft and strong and so very perfect.

Darcy sighed into the chaste kiss, had to part her lips and flick her tongue out to taste Valkyrie and-

And Valkyrie wrapped Darcy in her arms and pulled her close, and opened her mouth and let Darcy melt into her.

“You,” Valkyrie said when she finally pulled back from the kiss, “are absolutely wonderful.”

“I’m not. I’m okay. I’m-”

“Wonderful,” Valkyrie corrected her, finger once again on Darcy’s lips.

Darcy swallowed hard but remained silent.

Valkyrie nodded.

“Good. Shall I help you into bed?”

Darcy very sincerely hoped that that was an indecent proposition.

“Yes, please.”

Valkyrie picked her up again, this time bridal-carry style, and trooped through the cottage to Darcy’s bedroom.

She smiled down at Darcy and then dropped her - and Darcy’s body bounced on the mattress as her breath left her in a surprised gasp.

Valkyrie continued to smile as she lifted Darcy’s right leg and eased off her boot and sock. She switched to Darcy’s left leg and did the same before setting Darcy’s legs down and smoothing her hands over Darcy’s thighs and to her waist.

“Arms up,” she instructed, and Darcy instantly obeyed.

Valkyrie pulled off her sweater and tossed it aside before reaching for Darcy’s bra. Her fingers were efficient, smooth and sure as she unfastened the garment - a very boring, very sensible white cotton bra that was absolutely  _ not _ what Darcy would have ever worn if she had thought this situation was even the remotest of possibilities.

The bra joined her sweater, and Valkyrie’s calloused hands smoothed over Darcy’s skin, from her collarbones to her breasts to her waist, and then Valkyrie unfastened Darcy’s jeans.

Darcy lifted her hips to assist with their removal, and Valkyrie tugged both her jeans and her panties down, leaving Darcy naked.

“Beautiful,” Valkyrie said again, eyes shining.

Darcy didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. She had to fight the urge to argue and the urge to cover herself.

But then Valkyrie was joining her on the bed, still fully dressed, straddling Darcy’s hips and cradling Darcy’s skull and kissing her quite literally senseless.

Darcy felt as soft and warm and golden as the cottage. Valkyrie’s mouth and hands roamed over her body, gilding her with pleasure, and Darcy felt like she was floating, like she was simply  _ there _ for Valkyrie to… to do what she wished, and Darcy was so very, very okay with it.

Until Valkyrie stood up, leaving Darcy alone on the bed, cold and shivering.

“Roll over and let me spend some time with your fantastic arse,” Valkyrie instructed.

And - okay.

Sure.

Darcy could do that.

So she did, and then she yelped as Valkyrie’s hands gripped her ass cheeks and squeezed, pressure somewhere between teasing and painful.

“I’ve been wanting to taste you since you were on your knees at my feet this afternoon,” Valkyrie declared.

Darcy was about to point out that she wasn’t-

Wasn’t  _ what _ , Darcy would never know.

Because Valkyrie’s tongue licked a hot, wet path between Darcy’s ass cheeks, and literally nothing else in the world - or the entire universe - mattered at all.

“Oh my fucking god,” Darcy groaned.

“Mmm, delightful,” Valkyrie purred.

Darcy had to scrabble against the blanket on the bed for something to grip when Valkyrie’s tongue circled her hole.

And, okay, sure, she’d dated a guy or two who had played with her ass, but not like this. Never like this. 

Just as she started to convince herself that this was it - she had reached the absolute pinnacle of pleasure, and how the  _ hell _ did it feel so good to have a tongue in her ass? - Valkyrie’s fingers slipped between the folds of her labia and found her clit.

Valkyrie pinched her, short and sharp, and Darcy squealed, actually squealed, and felt a rush of shame almost as intense as her arousal.

But then that too ceased to matter because Valkyrie was fucking her, tongue in Darcy’s ass and fingers on her clit, and it was like Darcy was a game or a toy or just a thing that Valkyrie was very familiar with and very, very good at using.

It felt like forever and also immediately that Darcy’s orgasm grew from a banked fire to a roaring, impending explosion and- 

Valkyrie pinched her clit again, and Darcy came with a shout, body shaking and hands spasming against the blanket and gravity ceasing to exist.

Darcy more or less - more - fell over as soon as Valkyrie let go of her ass. She rolled onto her side and blinked back at Valkyrie, at the actual goddess who had just changed Darcy’s entire life.

Valkyrie was smirking.

“I’m looking forward to this liaison,” she said as she stood up from the bed. “Sleep well, Darcy.”

And before Darcy’s brain could formulate a response more coherent than “um,” Valkyrie was gone.

As far as first days on the job went, Darcy told herself almost an hour later when she finally made herself get up and put on pajamas, it totally could have gone worse.

-o-

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Some day I will learn to write PWP. 
> 
> That day... will hopefully be this month.


End file.
